It Feels Like Protection
by Enkidu07
Summary: Dean wrenches his back during a hunt. Injured!Dean. Steady!Sam.


**Title**: It Feels Like Protection**  
Author**: Enkidu07**  
Beta**: Mad Server – Thanks for the comments, suggestions, corrections, and ideas!!! I think you are brilliant and this story is better because of it. **  
Disclaimer**: The boys do not belong to me. Neither do the Doritos.**  
A/N**: This one started out as my 'wrenched' drabble but I got carried away...

--

The night settled cold and tense. Sam and Dean had been tracking the pattern of deaths for days before the case had finally reached resolution. The succeeding tromp through the cold night, running on fumes and week-old Doritos, finally gave way to a wet and roughly dug grave and dispassionate victory as the bones were torched.

Body aching, exhausted, and tight, Dean pushed up from the flaming grave. He had barely made it to standing before he found himself spinning back down hard in a bizarre rising and falling pirouette.

Sam started to smirk, but then the color leeched from Dean's skin, his hands clenching, face gray in the moonlight.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, confused.

Dean's introspective eyes found something incredibly fascinating in the dirt and he wasn't currently able to draw in a breath.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked, dropping in front of him, gently grasping his biceps.

Dean brought his eyes to Sam's, swallowing. "I think I wrenched my back." He attempted a grin.

Sam took in his hunched form, eyes widening, then looked at the burning grave.

"Can you walk? We need to go."

Dean nodded and steadied his breathing. "Help me up."

Dean grimaced as he found his feet, hunching over to take some of the pull off of his cramping lower back muscles. He pushed Sam away but then almost stumbled back into the dirt, redoubling the pain that flowed through his lower back.

He felt Sam's grip clench around his bicep. "Come on, Grandpa."

They hobbled together toward the car. Pain radiated throughout Dean's back, winding its way down his butt, making his legs weak. Everything clenched in sympathy until all of his muscles were beating in time with his heart and pulsating tighter with each step. His breaths were shallow by the time he leaned against the Impala. He took a minute to rest his flushed face against her cool surface.

"You okay?" Sam's hand slid down Dean's torso en route to his cramped back muscles.

Dean shuffled and pushed at him. "M'fine, let's go."

Dean didn't move but after a pause Sam stepped around him, opened the passenger door, and waited.

Dean used the Impala as support as he moved to the open door, then gripped the doorframe tightly. The seat looked as if it were at the bottom of a deep chasm. _Crap_. Dean stood, indecisive, staring at the seat. Sam's hand came at him again and slid around his waist. "Go slow."

Relying heavily on Sam and grunting a little more than he was comfortable with, Dean finally made it to the seat. Unfortunately, sitting was not as much of a relief as he had hoped and by the time Sam made it around the car, he had already tried leaning back, leaning forward, holding stiff, and finally was settling with a half-lean against the door. Each new position twisted his muscles in new and painfully interesting ways and the tightening band around his torso almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost.

As Sam settled in beside him, he rested his hand along the exposed span of Dean's back. "Wow, your muscles are tight, Dean."

"Get off, Samantha."

o0o

Back at the hotel, Dean slumped on the bed, half on his right side, clutching a pillow and trying to find some support for his aching back. Concentrating on breathing, he managed half a hitch of his breath to express his displeasure of Sam hovering over him. Relentless, Sam tugged on his shirt, exposing his torso to the cool air. As the air hit, his muscles tensed even more till he lay grinding his teeth, squeezing burning eyes.

It was a few moments before Dean was aware of Sam's voice.

"Did you stretch this morning?"

"What?"

"Did you stretch? You know, warm up your muscles after napping on a hard mattress and before running around in the cold and digging heavy wet mud?" Sam's hands were warmer than the air. Gently prodding Dean's cramping muscles, feeling the extent of the strain.

"Yeah, Sam. In the 6 minutes we were apart today, I went all Richard Simmons over here. Jesus. Did you see me stretch? Did _you_ stretch?" Dean retorted, voice broken and gruff and getting more pissed by the minute.

"Okay, no, but you're getting old, dude. Your muscles aren't as resilient as they used to be." The fingers of Sam's right hand curled between Dean's waist and the mattress, his left rested along Dean's left side and his thumbs cautiously explored the rigid muscles along either side of Dean's spine. Dean noted Sam's warm fingers cupping his torso, getting up close and personal and practically feeling him up. He opened his mouth to object but Sam was talking again. "Maybe you should take up yoga. Or water aerobics? I hear a water workout helps keep muscles loose. I can check out the senior citizen schedule at the local Y. Keep you limber." Sam kept up a steady stream. Dean knew Sam's taunts were an attempt to keep it light, keep him grounded, but this whole situation was crap and it _hurt_.

"Get the fuck off me, Gumby." Dean's voice was ice but he still lacked the physical resolve to actually push Sam off. And Sam was playing by his own rules.

Dean's left hand gripped at the comforter, his right trapped beneath him. His hazy awareness encompassed anger and distraction and his back and eyes burned in rolling waves. Just as he found the resolve to move to push Sam off regardless of the painful ramifications, Sam came into his field of vision and addressed him seriously.

"The muscle's still spasming..."

"No shit, Sherlock..."

"But," Sam continued over him, "it also feels inflamed. I'm going to get some ice to help cool it off and then I'll get you some muscle relaxants." Dean watched Sam take in his pain-ridden eyes, tense shoulders, and gripping hand, and he tried to breathe and calm down. "Dean," annoyingly sympathetic and softer now, "hang in there for a few more minutes." Dean took a steadying breath.

Sam came through on his promises. Ice on his back made him hiss and tense more, but then it created a numb barrier to mask the spasms. Dean eyed the muscle relaxants apprehensively, but the combination of Sam's puppy dog eyes and a particularly painful throb across his lower back had him uncoordinatedly fumbling for them. Sam's hands felt annoyingly steady and warm when they came into contact with his cold and shaking one, but they were helpful in getting the pills into him without incident.

Dean held his awkward position on the bed and closed his eyes, willing the pills to kick in. He just needed enough relief to get up and out and they could be on their way. Sam, however, seemed to be settling in, opening the laptop and shrugging out of his jacket and shoes.

Relaxants apparently doing their job, Dean was startled awake a little while later when Sam jostled the bed. He tensed at the motion, grunting as he reawakened the throb across his lower back, and then he shivered, adding to the pain.

Sam's hand on his shoulder steadied him.

"Ready to go?" Dean grunted out.

Sam blew out a laugh and squeezed his shoulder gently before pulling away. "Nowhere we need to be, Dean. We're going to stay here tonight.

Dean tried to turn to see what Sam was doing, but the motion sent shooting stars through his torso - _fuck,_ even his abs hurt _-_ so he settled for demanding information instead. "What are you doing?"

"I've been reading up," Sam said as he pulled the ice away. He rested his hand on Dean's back for a moment, warming it after the cold of the ice pack. "We're going to do some heat next. Let you relax a little."

"I am relaxed," Dean grunted back.

"Yeah. Well, we're going to let your back in on that secret." Once Dean's back had warmed a little, Sam settled a heating pad in place. Then he sat tense on the bed at Dean's back, silent and unmoving, creating an air of expectation and Dean found himself tensing in preparation. "Dean. You have to relax, not tighten more."

"What, Sam? Say whatever you're gonna say."

"Well, we have a few of options..." That terrible silence again. "We can go to a clinic, find a chiropractor to check you out, or, there's an Eastern practice in town that offers acupuncture." Sam's hand rested on Dean's side above the heating pad, stilling any movement Dean might otherwise have made in reaction.

"Sam," he growled out. "No." Wow. He had meant for that to be decisive and an order, but it almost sounded like a whine.

Sam paused again. Riding out the silence. "Well..." Dean could hear the hesitation in Sam's voice.

"Well what?" Dean asked quietly, tired and tired of hurting.

"The other option is to let me work on the muscle a little."

"No way."

"Okay. I'll see if a chiropractor can get you in this afternoon." Sam got up and headed back to the laptop.

Dean wasn't sure when this had spun so far out of his control. Damn little manipulative brothers_. _"Okay. Okay, Sam," he conceded. "You can be Suzie homemaker and iron me out. But it's nothing. I just need to rest."

"Ha," Sam returned, eyes lighting up for the first time all day. "_That _is the smartest thing I've ever heard you say. I think you need to rest, too. I'll go book us for another night and then we can work on your back."

Dean closed his eyes and tried to find unconsciousness before Sam came back.

o0o

Dean was painfully aware of Sam moving around the room gathering supplies even though he kept his eyes closed. He could hear Sam pause and consider and hoped that Sam would think he was sleeping and leave him alone. The heating pad was doing wonders to calm the edges of the pain and Dean could just about live with the dull persistent ache that lingered. After a few consciously even breaths, however, an acute residual spasm made him grimace and blew his cover.

"Dean," Sam started quietly and closer than Dean anticipated, making him jump, "I'm just going to start by stretching your back a little."

Dean's face glowed red as Sam hooked his legs and pulled his knees up, creating a light stretch across his back. He grunted his displeasure but only received soft admonishment from Sam: "Don't fight it, Dean. Just relax and breathe. Let me do the work."

Dean turned his face into the pillow.

"Am I hurting you?"

Dean tried to disappear.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, hesitant; action paused. "How you doing?"

Dean nodded into the pillow, unable to ignore his brother's worry, and he heard his brother let go of a breath and return to his legs. "Let me know if it's making it worse."

Dean let Sam pull him into awkward positions that initially spiked the pain in his back but then seemed to ease some of the cramping. After about 5 minutes of Sam's quiet steady breath, he unburied his face and let his head rest on the pillow, eyes closed and breaths matching Sam's.

Dean tensed when Sam broke the silence, preparing himself for the onslaught of touchy feely crap, but Sam only said, "Try to relax your abs too, so they aren't pulling on the muscles in your back." He rested his hand on Dean's hip for a minute, waiting for Dean to comply. Dean focused on loosening his cramped abs.

Sam moved his hand to the heating pad on Dean's back, quietly adding pressure for another minute. Dean was tempted to open his eyes and break the dragging silence, but the tightness was receding so he just relaxed a little further into the bed.

Sam finally pulled the pad away and laid his hand on Dean's back again. This time his fingers were a welcome coolness against the fevered skin. He ran some exploratory fingers across the span of Dean's lower back, gently kneading to figure out what he was dealing with.

"You have a few knots, but I think I can work them out. You okay, gramps?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, but he nodded more quickly this time.

When Sam's fingers dug into the first knot, however, Dean couldn't help but tense and pull away, reigniting a web of fire.

Sam caught his hip, stilling him and waited for his breathing to settle. "Okay. Okay. I'll go easier, okay? I'll start softer," he reassured, serious and steady. Dean turned his face back into the pillow. "Dean. Keep breathing, man. Stay relaxed. Come on, you're doing good." Dean didn't acknowledge him.

This time when Sam moved to his back, he left one hand wrapped around Dean's hip, preventing him from jerking away from the touch. His fingers probed the knots much more gently, waiting for them to yield to the pressure before working his fingers a little deeper. Pain shot along Dean's back, radiating down his leg and up his spine, but the slow release of the cramp under Sam's fingers accompanied by a growing natural endorphin high made him relax again under Sam's touch.

As the lumps yielded, Sam began more broad palmed strokes, smoothing the muscle out away from Dean's spine. Dean's muffled grunts turned from those of suppressed pain to grunts of pleasure as the muscle finally eased.

As Sam worked, Dean unintentionally turned more fully onto his stomach, giving Sam greater access to the span of his back.

Sam worked his way across Dean's lower back and then up to his mid back, then to his shoulder blades and shoulders. Dean tensed as Sam moved away from the source of his problem, but Sam soothed, "Keep relaxing. Everything here is connected and the tension in your shoulders is pulling on the rest of your back. Let me work it out."

Sam dug out some muscle rub and its familiar scent took Dean even deeper. He harrumphed his approval as Sam hit some of the tighter spots along his shoulder blades. The warm touch was soothing, the smell reminded him of safety and family after a hunt, and the muscle relaxants were pulling him back under.

"Good at this, Sam," he mumbled into his pillow and he heard Sam's exhaled huff in reply.

As Sam moved up the back of his neck and worked his fingers into Dean's hairline, he surrendered to his relaxed exhaustion.

o0o

Dean awoke the next morning in the same position he'd fallen asleep in: belly to the bed, all stretched out. His shoes and jeans were gone and he was covered with a warm comforter. He lay still, assessing the soreness of his muscles.

"Hey," Sam greeted when he experimentally turned his head to look around the room. "Go slow; don't pull anything else."

Dean narrowed his eyes, but was very careful as he rolled to his side and then slowly pushed into a sitting position from there. So far, so good.

"What'd you do to me? Even my shoulders are sore."

"I worked you over pretty good while you were sleeping. Drink some water." Sam gestured to the water on the nightstand. "We should ice your back for a couple of days, get rid of the inflammation." Dean ignored him. "You're going to have to stretch a little too. Keep it loose." Again. Ignored. Dean did roll his shoulders forward a little to create a light pull across his back. Then drank the water.

The next few days were peculiar for Dean, though not entirely disagreeable: Sam dogging him, trying to make him stretch. Stretching himself as if to set a good example. Ice packs appearing every hour. Ibuprofen every four. Dean would have fought it a little harder if it didn't feel so good. And, if his back muscles weren't so quick to remind him of their previous ire even during activities as innocuous as leaning forward to brush his teeth. And, if Sam _wanted_ to be his personal masseuse once or twice, who was Dean to complain?

It reminded Dean of the few times during their childhood when dad had left Sam in charge: like when Dean had sprained his ankle severely enough to require surgery, or when Dean had pneumonia on top of bronchitis, or the first time Dean failed to save an innocent and didn't sleep for over a week. Each time Sammy had shadowed him, not always talking, just watching and anticipating Dean's needs. It felt like protection.

About four days in, however, Dean was moving past amused and tolerant to annoyed and tetchy and finally planned a hunt himself since Sam seemed to be settling into the role of his personal attendant.

o0o

A week out found Dean and Sam in the middle of a forest, tracking a syphin, Dean taking extra care not to blow his 'I'm fine' cover by pulling his back again.

Dean took point, keeping the pace fast, ignoring the rain and the cold bite of the air. When it happened, it was unexpected to both of them.

Sam saw Dean go down. He brought his gun up looking for what had knocked Dean off his feet.

"Fuck," Dean roared, twisting in the mud.

Sam dropped beside his brother, scanning the trees.

"Your back?" Sam's eyes were full of concern and self-blame.

Dean panted, face puckered, mud clinging. "No, I'm fine." He studiously avoided Sam's unwavering look.

"I think I wrenched my knee," he finally spat out.

Sam's expression morphed from shock to amusement and then back to business as he kept his gun up while reaching for Dean's joint with the other hand.

Dean pushed at him, then grabbed tight when Sam curled fingers behind his calf.

"What hit you?"

"What?"

"What took your down?" Sam clarified, glancing around fervently.

Dean let his head drop, squishing into the earth.

"Fucking mud," he mumbled, pushing at Sam again.

Sam snorted. "Well, Grandpa," he said as he manipulated the joint, "we have a few options..."

--

end.


End file.
